


To break and mend

by dorkery



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe, Childhood, Growing Up, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2011-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:17:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkery/pseuds/dorkery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the tragic death of his parents, 12-year-old Dick Grayson is taken in by Bruce Wayne and finds himself having to share the family with his 10-year-old son, Damian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Damian was scowling.

It was nothing out of the ordinary, save the intensity in the furrow of his brow. Narrowed eyes and a tightly pressed mouth were tell-tale signs of thorough _normality_ in the Wayne household, and all newcomers to the manor would acquaint, and familiarise, themselves with it. Today, however, today was special. He was much more tense than usual. The stiffness in his posture and the quiet with which he held himself, those little things betrayed something a little more acidic and _resentful_ than the usual distaste.

Opposite him, standing in the doorway, was a boy.

The boy had thick curly hair and shabby, discoloured clothes. Damian wrinkled his nose, imagining the non-existent fetid smell wafting from his unwashed hands, covered in bandages and callouses, fingernails dirty, palms rough. He had an unsure smile on his face, weak, like the rest of him. Timid. Bruce Wayne’s hand was on his shoulder.

Damian hated him already.

\-----

“This is Dick Grayson. He’s going to be staying with us from now on.”

“ _Why_ ,” Damian countered without skipping a beat.

Bruce’s lips thinned and he gently squeezed Dick’s shoulder, having felt the boy slouch a little under his touch. Damian was going to be the death of them all.

“…That is something we can discuss _later_ , Damian.”

“Will waiting alter the contents of this discussion?”

“No, but-”

“Then I don’t see why we can’t discuss this _now_.”

Father and son scowled at each other for a good minute. Caught in the crossfire, Dick felt uncomfortable, out of place, the hand on his shoulder locking him down and preventing him from retreat or escape. He twisted the handle of his bag in his hands as he stared at his feet. He was still raw from the… incident. Still had nightmares. Still waiting for a funeral. He didn’t want to think about it, but it was all he thought about. Here and this… he wasn’t sure how he felt about being, not adopted, _taken in_ , moreover by a complete stranger. He was aching, for his parents, for the circus, for something familiar. Not big cold manors and English butlers and… this. Whatever this was.

Whatever this was, things were off to a shining start.

“Hi,” Dick said finally, breaking the silence. “I’m 12. How old are you?”

It was quiet for a moment.

Damian scoffed at him and turned on his heel.

A door slammed and echoed sharply through the hall, making Dick grimace at the violence of it. Behind him, he heard a collective sigh of relief. He glanced backwards to Bruce and Alfred, a defeated expression on his face. They smiled at him reassuringly.

“I’m sorry about that. Damian hasn’t… He arrived four months ago. We’re still trying to smoothen things out.”

So he was a stranger, too.

Dick’s gaze dropped once again to the floor, awkwardly. He wasn’t sure what else to say. Thank you? He supposed it seemed only _right_ to thank Bruce, but he was being held back by the immeasurable doubt in his heart and the emotional numbness that had taken over since he last took to the trapeze. He couldn’t _feel_ anything really. Days just blended into each other. He hardly believed he was now legally under the care of Bruce Wayne.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“…Alfred will show you to your room. Take as long as you need to settle in.”


	2. Chapter 2

i.

Dick entered the dining room anxiously.

His stomach was tight and in knots, somersaulting with each heavy step he took. He wondered if he could even eat, but he knew enough that he had to _try_. He hadn’t given himself too much time to be alone with his own thoughts. He didn’t think he could handle such a thing yet. Part of him was grateful that Bruce Wayne had organised his… (not an adoption) _transfer_ with all the haste he had, not allowing him to be stuck in limbo between a foster home or the circus. Another part of him wished he had been allowed to stay with the rest of the acrobats and clowns in the Big Top, but he wondered how long he could until the memories tore him apart. The only life he had ever known was too difficult to continue on with. At every turn, whenever he closed his eyes, his parents and all their shadows haunted him. Their smiles. Their warmth. Their laughter. Leaving it all behind and starting anew seemed… less painful, somehow.

He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to _think_.

“Ah, Master Dick, so good to see you. Please, do sit.”

Dick smiled waveringly at Alfred, moving to seat himself but Damian suddenly appeared out of nowhere and vehemently placed his bottom on the chair Dick had pulled out. His arms were crossed and a smug grin played on his face. Bruce and Alfred exchanged a wary glance, about to reproach the boy, but Dick smiled briefly and walked around them to sit on Bruce’s left instead, effectively defusing the situation. Damian’s smirk flickered dangerously into a scowl for the briefest moments but he was otherwise was unmovable.

“So,” Bruce tried smoothly. “How do you like your room?”

Dick hesitated around Alfred serving his dinner, thinking about his response. “It’s… big.”

Damian snorted. Bruce shot him a look before turning once again to Dick.

“It’s yours now, so you can do whatever you want with it. I know it’s your first night and it must seem strange, but if you put posters or pictures up, make it more of your own…”

Dick offered another brief smile to Bruce. “I’ll try.”

The conversation ended there, with Dick quietly and politely eating his small portions. He had nothing more to say. Couldn’t be blamed. Damian, as per usual, was terrible conversation _anyway_. He seemed even worse somehow. He could hazard a few guesses as to why. Bruce eyed them both before clearing his throat.

“Well, Dick, whenever you feel up to it, Damian can show you around the manor.”

There was a clash of china and cutlery, the sound of a chair thrown backwards and hands slamming down on the table.

“I will _what!_ ”

Dick looked up to meet Damian’s furious glare, experiencing slight trepidation at the fact that he was so obviously disliked. Damian’s eyes, however, were stubbornly trained on Bruce and not on him, as though he were willfully trying to deny the fact that Dick was there at all. Dick shrank a little in his seat as he watched the argument unfold.

“I am not _beholden_ to him, father!”

“Damian, _sit down_.”

“Is this some test? To see if I’ll obey you word for word? To try my _loyalty?_ Or are you trying to make me _accept_ this charlatan? Because I certainly won’t! There are plenty of orphans in the world, what makes _him_ so sp-”

“Damian!”

Damian ended his tirade but glared at Bruce challengingly. Dick was about to excuse himself from the table and go back to his room, save himself the torment, but, surprisingly, Damian threw his hands down and said, “Fine!”

Dick stared at him as Damian sullenly returned to his meal, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Bruce rubbed his temple, _feeling_ the impending migraine, but refrained from further reproach. Dick’s gaze wandered to Alfred who merely raised his eyebrows but otherwise betrayed no emotion. He hesitantly settled back into his seat and finished his dinner.

Peculiarly, Damian did actually give him an (albeit very) brief tour of the manor afterwards. Dick said little as Damian pointed at certain rooms, gruffly naming them and stating their purpose, save for the sake of clarification (to which Damian consistently responded with a snippy retort). He didn’t show Dick the entire manor, just the ones that conveniently led to their rooms in the east wing. Their rooms, as it turned out, were separated only by a walk-in closet that had things like toilet paper and extra linens in it.

“Listen here,” Damian said sharply, jabbing a finger in Dick’s direction. “Don’t even think of getting comfortable. I’ll have you tossed out by the ear by the time the week is through. There is only one son in this house and I am he.”

Dick gave him a wan smile.

 

 

ii.

Dick peered out the window. It was overcast, but no sign of rain.

 _Good_ , he thought.

He turned from where he had pulled back the heavy curtains to stare quietly at the grand staircase that led from the foyer to penetrate deeper into the manor. He had been greeted with the very same view not two days ago, only then it had been brightly lit and had loomed severely, intimidating with its sharp angles and rich mahogany and cold marble. Now, dim and quiet, it seemed… comforting. Soothing.

In reflection of the state of the manor, the hand that rested on his shoulder was gentle and the voice that called him, soft. He lingered, waiting and wondering and perhaps the slightest bit reluctant, but he eventually looked away from the staircase and walked to the car. Damian was already inside, arms and legs crossed as he stared at his shoes. He had the telltale scowl and furrowed brow, but his jaw wasn’t set as firmly as usual. He seemed less disagreeable, somehow. Their eyes met briefly as Dick slid into the seat beside him but he looked away at the brief smile. Dick stared out the window throughout the car ride. No one said a word.

It was simple. The Lion Tamer had always doubled as the priest back in the circus (and he had served in a house of god prior to _that_ appointment) and he conducted the final rites. Everyone in attendance was dressed soberly, but not all in black, which served to lift Dick’s spirits a little. He was glad. They smiled and stood by him as the coffins lowered into the ground, arms around his shoulders, cracking quiet jokes as they reminisced about the good old days. After the Lion Tamer finished sprinkling a handful of dirt over the graves, they gave Dick space to step forward, do whatever he needed to. Though he never once looked away from the coffins, he did nothing.

“Dick,” Bruce said gently, walking closer. “Would you like to spend some time alone?”

Dick didn’t blink. He slowly shook his head, still staring after the coffins.

“No.”

The adults exchanged glances but let him be. He smiled softly as the performers patted his head and gave him hugs and planted goodbye kisses on him, each of them saying things that he wasn’t sure he’d even remember by the time the day was through. There was a little more joking because quiet laughter broke out every now and again. He followed after Alfred and got back into the car, eyes on the coffins as the pulled out. As it disappeared from view, his gaze lingered on the tombstones, then the tall trees, then the sign over the cemetery, and finally there was nothing but a vague direction for him to look at.

\-----

 _John & Mary Grayson_

 _Parents • Performers  
Who still soar in our sky_


	3. Chapter 3

iii.

“What was that.”

Dick looked up from his bed where he had been fiddling with a book. Damian was leaning against the doorway, still in the outfit from that morning though the tie and jacket were gone. He turned the words over in his head briefly, running through the possible things Damian could be talking about in hopes of minimising potential conflicts before he sagged his shoulders in resignation and decided to just ask him straight out.

“What do you mean?”

Damian narrowed his eyes. Dick saw it coming a mile away but winced all the same.

“That… funeral,” Damian said, gesturing vaguely with a hand.

Dick looked at him quizzically, feeling a numb sting. “It was for my parents.”

“I know _that_ ,” Damian replied flatly. He didn’t like this Dick Grayson a single bit but he _had_ just buried his father and mother. Damian spent a good minute trying to phrase his words in the best way possible, considering the delicacy of the situation. He failed.

“It was a freak show.”

For the first time since they had met, Dick’s eyes widened and flared with anger. He jumped to his feet, about to stride to Damian and grab him, throw a punch at him, but then Damian let out an irritated huff and ran a hand through his hair, gaze averted, looking angry with himself.

“There was a fat woman with facial hair tied in a bow, and a short man with three arms, and none of them were dressed in all black, and they were laughing. Aside from their lack of physical _normality_ , am I to believe that they are somehow exempt from the ritual of mourning?”

Dick looked at him warily, wondering if he was for real or if this was a way to get at him, get under his skin. Damian had threatened to get Dick kicked out of the manor on his first night, after all. He hesitated, fists unclenching at his sides.

“They’re… They’re my family.”

Damian shot him a look. “I was under the impression you had no other blood relations.”

“No, they’re not --” Dick fumbled, trying to wrap his head around the conversation. “We’re not related by blood. We’re part of the same circus. I grew up in the circus.”

“That explains a lot,” Damian muttered under his breath. Dick heard it.

“Watch it or I’m going to pound you,” he said angrily, feeling his temper rise, fists clenching once again.

“I’d like to see you try.” And _there_ , there was that roguish little smirk, that upper class sneer. Dick was going to hit him. He’d do it. So help him, if he was kicked out of the manor, it would be _worth_ it. Dick was just about to punch him when suddenly Damian frowned, scowling at him in what he’d soon identify was _thoughtful_.

“Circuses, by definition, have acrobats, trained animals and clowns. That doesn’t explain the woman with the beard or the three-armed man. Nor does your touching, but incorrect, definition of ‘family’ adequately satisfy my query.”

“Were you born under a rock?” Dick finally blurted out with more disbelief than anger. “You’ve never been to a fun fair in your life? Or read about them? You’ve never been to a funeral? My parents are - were _good people_. They were _good people_ , and the circus is full of _good people_ , and they’re all _sad_ that my parents are _dead_ , but mom and dad wouldn’t have wanted us to cry and be unhappy even if they’re gone, and the circus knows that, and they tried to keep me happy even though I’m _not_. And _that’s_ why they wore colours and joked around. Do you get it or do you want me to draw you a picture?”

Damian didn’t respond immediately, eyes narrowed fiercely. He was a proud kid, that much was obvious. Dick could see the cogs turning furiously in his head as a nasty look came over his face and he realised with slowly dawning horror that Damian calculated his blows to _hurt_.

“This so-called ‘family’ of yours,” Damian leered. “Didn’t care about you enough to take you in.”

Dick felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

“Get out,” his voice shook.

“Oh? Hit the nail on the head? Is that why you’re appealing your charity case--”

“GET OUT.”

His parents had always raised him to be courteous but there was nothing in the world like slamming a door in Damian Wayne’s face.

\----

Damian ate alone at dinner. He was unsurprised. Bruce was never around, Alfred had long since given up on him, and he wasn’t about to let Dick Grayson get cozy. A little more prodding and the boy was sure to run back to the circus with his tail between his legs. Everything was going according to plan. Damian was _pleased_ ; so pleased, in fact, that he was sure Alfred would pick up on his mood when he cleaned up the lack of remnants of the coq au vin he’d had later on. He would do some light reading before turning in.

Damian halted, hand on his doorknob. There was a muffled sound coming from the next room. He walked soundlessly towards the slightly ajar door and peeked in. Alfred was sitting on the bed, back to Damian, facing Dick. Even in an intimate setting, he was sitting with his back straight and hands folded on his lap.

“… so he’s not home today either.”

“I am sorry, Master Dick. Master Bruce is… you must understand he…”

“Never mind. It’s fine. Thanks, Alfred.”

Alfred let out a frustrated sound, the first of the sort either of them had ever heard, and Damian could see him reaching out to Dick. It was a gesture he was familiar with, having been on the receiving end of it time and again but it had stopped months ago. He felt a little irked to see Dick lean into it though he reminded himself that this was a good progression – weakness. Dick was displaying weakness. Bruce hated weakness.

“You may always talk to me, Master Dick, though I am a poor substitute for Master Bruce.”

“You sure I can’t call you ‘mom’ or something?”

Alfred muttered something in reply but when he turned his head, Damian saw that he was smiling. Alfred gingerly placed a hand on Dick’s shoulder.

“Master Dick, something else is bothering you, isn’t it?”

Damian’s ears perked and he narrowed his eyes.

A pause. “No.”

“Are you certain? I know,” Alfred sighed lightly, “Master Damian has been making things difficult for you. I would appreciate it if you confided in me at least that much, and, all the same, I do hope you could get along with him. His upbringing was… quite different from yours. Master Bruce and I hoped that you might be friends.”

Dick scoffed where Damian couldn’t. “Alfred, we live in different solar systems.”

“A tad extreme, but I appreciate the hyperbole.”

 _Complain_ , Damian mouthed. _Complain, complain, complain…_

“I just don’t understand him,” he made a frustrated noise, “And I don’t think he wants me to.”

“His was a hard childhood, Master Dick; full of expectations and perfection. He has very high expectations for himself as well. And, well, for a very long time, he was the only boy to be under the care of Master Bruce.”

“… Is he afraid that Bruce will treat me like his firstborn or something?”

Alfred huffed a quiet laugh. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. It isn’t my place to say.”

“Well, I don’t want to be Bruce’s firstborn,” Dick said softly, causing Damian to start. “He isn’t my dad.”

“Oh, Master Dick. Of course, he isn’t. He would never presume to be.”

Alfred leaned in to wrap his arms around Dick. Dick hugged him back. They spoke a little more after that, quietly, but Damian had seen enough. He withdrew sullenly, no longer in the mood to sleep. He jammed his hands in his pockets and stalked to his room.


End file.
